Iron Promise
by x. I Got You First .x
Summary: It happened once before, and the thought still haunts him; it may happen again. He's just trying to show his appreciation through the only means he really can. Before it's too late. [Inspired by The Convergence, an online writing community.]


_Inspired by events on_ _The Convergence_ _. A Tony Stark video-message dedicated to the little family he's acquired over the past eleven months. A contingency of sorts, in case he's taken against his will. It happened once before, and the thought still haunts him; it may happen again. He's just trying to show his appreciation through the only means he really can._

* * *

"Pepper."

He smiles warmly and glances down to the desk. The sound of her name and the meaning it holds for him fill him up with such warmth. Discretely, he bites his lip before focusing his attention back up. He has to say this before the chance is ripped away from him. He has to get it off his chest.

"I can't say this enough. But I'm _happy_."

"Properly."

"I look at you and Vera and Ian, and I.. and sometimes I can't believe this is real, you know?"

"It's one of those dreams you never quite realise you've had until you _have_ it, and suddenly it all makes sense. Suddenly, it's like.. everything lead up to this one point."

"I've had the dream before. Well, partially. Barton built a farm and the Team stayed there for a night and the whole time I was thinking, you and me.. could've lived on a farm. I'd build it. You wouldn't have to lift a finger. Unless you wanted to, of course. Could've been our little project."

The smile he portrays is so small and repressed, the warmth cannot leak out entirely. But through his eyes, those glow with a kind of warmth only found in true love.'''

"'Course, I didn't really think of kids – my _own_ kids – but now that I know it's possible... well, the dream's still there."

A distant smirk twitches over his features.

"If I leave... yeah, I don't like saying it either, but.. it happened last time, so why wouldn't it happen now?"

He has to pause and force in a breath, nodding once to get his brain back on track.

"If I leave..."

 _Oh, god_ , his head moans internally. Leaving turns out to be more real than he thought.

All life here is so fragile. Maybe he couldn't die, not like the kids, but something about leaving and forgetting felt worse. All months learning and growing, loving and coming to terms, all of it would spiral down the drain faster than one could say 'decimation'. When he arrived – when _he_ arrived, _this_ version of him – he felt like this pervious version, that was his ideal version and what he was trying to claw himself back to. Then, Arthur spilled the beans, told him abut the marriage, and – yes – he freaked out. Not for the reasons of commitment; he was committed as they came; he loved Pep more than any woman in the universe. He freaked out because he'd already done it, and he missed it. He got the girl, he built a life, and then some higher power threw a stone at the perfect thing, and it all dissolved.

"Who decides this shit anyway? Leaving. That's what I mean."

"If I leave, don't blame yourself. Don't blame me. If I have a choice in the matter, which I don't think I actually do.. it probably just happens, I would choose here. You." He pointed at the screen a moment, eyes averting to avoid direct eye contact. He'd feel too exposed, even then when hiding behind a piece of tech. "I'd choose the kids. This over home, any day. No contest." He leans back, slapping and gripping kthe table with one hand to keep him from rolling too far on his chair. "There's nothing there for me anyway..." he mumbles in conclusion.

"Man, I have _kids_."

He turns to the camera, a grin starting slowly–

"Tony Stark, settling down, who would have thought?"

It reaches ear to ear.

"Thank you, Potts."

"Couldn't have done this without you."

"Crap, now it feels like I'm actually _dying_. Which I'm not. I swear, I'm not."

"Just for the record, I would have made an omelette for that."

...

"Time's weird here. You think you have an infinite amount of minutes, maybe you can live forever by escaping. Maybe you stay here forever. But then, –BAM! you're gone."

"And, _I_ don't want to go."

He allows a precious few seconds slip by him. He can't bring himself to look at the camera, so he simply sits back in the revolving chair, arm trailing the armrest until the elbow, where it hinges and provides a support for his head. He shifts his hand so his chin rests in the palm of his hand, and his fingers splay over his mouth. He finally looks up. A few more precious moments pass.

"By now, Ian's probably all grown up. Either I missed it or am currently missing it or was there when it happens and just _now_ he has no dad. I'm sorry."

"I hope there's something better I could say, but there's not. There's not, I've tried– I've thought on it." A beat. "I'm sorry–"

"Vera's probably perfected her muffins by now, made the ultimate recipe." Crossing his arms, he leans forward and presses his forearms against the desk surface. "Never share it, by the way, Ver. Secrets like those are good to have." He winks twice into the camera, once from each side. Grins, as well.

Then, his head dips to the side again as if composing his next words carefully. It takes a while, and the silence which washed over the hall-like garage hangs heavily on his ears.

He brings his chin up.

Eyes regard the camera dead on. He looks like he's about to say something, and the next few seconds are spent trying to get past the sudden lump in his throat. It looks like he is about to force it out, loud and prideful and clear, but his eyes slip to the monitor and even his slight offset from the camera is visible.

"I love you. All of you."

"Pep. Ver. Ian. Even you, Pete, you stowaway." The chuckle rising in his throat is a refreshing sensation. The knowing tone fills with such teasing amusement.

Then, he swallows.

"That about wraps this feels-fest."

"God, I've grown nostalgic."

Without warning, he reaches over for the camera. His hand disappears from the screen's view, and there's a little tremble which shakes the entire view.

"One day at a time."

That's how he will take all the days leading up to now. Never a moment wasted.

x-x-x

The screen goes black. Audio stops recording. In his chair behind the desk of the Stark-Potts' household basement of an alternate dimension, of _The Convergence_ , so far from home, Anthony Edward Stark regards the empty space in front. Empty space, just like all of this one day.

He never leaves the garage for the rest of the night.


End file.
